Naturally, of Course
by WaterGirl14
Summary: Sometimes you don't need drugs to make you feel better. Sometimes you need laughter, love, life lessons... A series of unrelated drabbles.
1. Laugh Fights

Sam and Danny emerged from the dark movie theater. They had just finished a movie, a standard male-oriented action/adventure, filled with things blowing up and half-naked women, and were still adjusting to the sudden burst of light that came with their return to the real world.

"That was good," Danny remarked as they exited the building. The cold night air was a sharp contrast to the warm theater. Sam shivered slightly and pulled on her coat. It covered the shirt she was wearing, a black halter-top. She had long since abandoned the sleeveless purple shirt, plaid green and black skirt, and combat boots. Her wardrobe, though not much lighter, now consisted of many tight jeans and revealing shirts. The icy air was kept away from her skin by her jacket.

"Very," Sam responded with sarcasm. "I liked the part at the end where the guy and girl jumped off the boat." The girl smiled at this recollection; it was her favorite part in the entire movie. The _end_. Danny was her boyfriend, but that didn't mean that they had to like the same movies.

"I'll say!" Danny agreed, not catching her less-than-truthful response. They walked along a few more sidewalk squares in silence. "You want to head back to the house?" the halfa remarked, finally noticing the cold.

"Yeah!" Sam said, getting ahead of herself. Tucker had left halfway throughout the movie, much to his dismay, and she was dying to have some "alone time" with the dark-haired man to her right. But, realizing what she _must_ have sounded like, she calmed herself and then quietly said, "Sure."

"All right." Danny grabbed her hand. It was something casual, and he'd done it many times before, but it still made Sam's heart flutter. Her love quickly looked around. There were no people in sight. He jumped up into the air, black hair fading to white and sky-blue eyes to ghostly green. Strong arms scooped up Sam, one hand under her knees and the other supporting her back, ignoring her squeal of surprise as they flew towards her house.

The shock eventually wore off and Sam smiled. She loved flying, ever since her first real flight with Danny almost six years ago, when it all started. Now, though, she didn't have opportunities like this nearly as often. Both were busy, what with their jobs and applying to colleges...there simply wasn't any time. Sam found she missed the sensation. She was focused on the treetops below, absently humming a tune. A distracted Danny didn't recognize it, but he was happy to listen to his girlfriend's melodic voice. When he turned his attention back to the flight path, he was startled to find himself only a few feet from brick, and it was only by instinct that he phased both of them through the building. And then he had to dodge several electric lines. A spooked Sam kept her gaze ahead of them now, eyes darting back and forth, seeking out upcoming dangers.

Finally, Danny's feet touched grass, and they had arrived.

"Home sweet home," Sam remarked cheerfully, reluctantly pulling her hand out of her boyfriends. She gazed up at the building that she and Danny shared, simple though it was, but with plenty of room. Her parents had practically forced it on her when she moved out, and no matter how much their daughter had protested, Jeremy and Pam stayed strong. Of course, they may not have made that decision had they known that, unwilling to be alone in her spacious new home, Sam had more or less press-ganged Danny into moving in.

"You got that right." Sam looked over to see him walk forward and open the door, holding it open for his girlfriend to pass through.

"Thanks." she said nonchalantly. Nowadays, especially after moving in with her, he had become somewhat courteous and proper, no doubt influenced by the chivalrous code infused inside most men's brains. She had become accustomed to it. Sam walked through the door and hung her jacket on the coat rack.

"You're welcome." Danny followed her inside, the door shutting behind them with a snap. He locked it, noting with satisfaction the ever-so-slight spark that jumped out from it's handle. It was a safety feature his father had insisted on installing last Christmas, and it kept out--or in this case, in--anything with an ectoplasmic signature. In essence, the house was ghost-proof. _Good old Dad,_ Danny thought to himself with a small smile. He turned to look at the woman he had become used to seeing each day. "I hope you had fun."

"Don't worry." Sam's back was to the wall, arms crossed, a hardly-noticeable curve at the edges of her mouth. "I did."

"That's good to hear." Danny pulled off his coat and placed it on the coat rack.

"And besides," Sam continued, the smile turning to a smirk as he glanced over his shoulder at her, "I was with you."

Danny grinned. "Good point," he joked, with only the slightest hint of overconfidence plaguing his voice. Still, the sly expression that he now wore made Sam have to fight back very out-of-character laughter. She always seemed to go to pieces at the worst moments around him. She had gotten a bit more feminine since ninth grade, no doubt due to his influence...and his methods of persuasion. The thought of such methods brought a new giddy feeling out from within her, and she couldn't hold in a small chuckle.

"Made you laugh." Danny's amused grin got just the tiniest bit wider as he leaned in and pecked her cheek, evoking a smile from the girl next to him. He pulled away a bit too soon for Sam's liking, and she stepped towards him, beaming, determined to get him back by her side. The woman reached out for his wrist but he maneuvered out of the way.

"There's that wonderful smile of yours," Danny murmured as he looked upon the shining face that was all his, would forever be his if he had his choice in the matter. Sam turned crimson and laughed nervously. Even after all this time, she hadn't become used to his compliments, flattering though they were.

"Got you again," the halfa quipped. Sam seemed to be in a laughing mood...and wicked ideas were forming in his mind. He was going to enjoy this. "That's another kiss." Danny leaned down and pecked her cheek once more, again pulling away before his love could get him.

"Stop teasing me!" Sam said in a tone reminiscent of a whine. An amused laugh bubbled up from within her, and she wondered what was making her so giddy.

"Again!" Danny pecked her on the other cheek a third time. "You're just a fountain of mirth, eh Sam?"

Sam was not the kind of girl who would allow herself to be teased in such a way, so she defiantly turned away from him, bit her bottom lip, crossed her arms, and leaned up against the wall. _I will not laugh,_ she repeated in her mind. _I will not laugh. I can't laugh. I just won't--_ Her eyes opened when she heard Danny clear his throat, just in time to see him make an overly goofy face.

"Shit!" Sam just couldn't help it, there was more laughter escaping her mouth as she braced herself on the wall for more support, not trusting her legs to hold her up.

"Ah ha!" Danny shouted triumphantly, moving close. His new target? Purple lips that were set off so brilliantly by her creamy white skin. This time he let the kiss linger, playfully brushing a hand through her hair, pulling it out of the loose bun that she had hurriedly put in this morning on her way to her job. Sam let out a relieved sigh and rested her hands on his shoulders. But her happiness was short lived, as suddenly her hands passed through nothing and the pressure on her lips was gone. When her eyes fluttered open Danny was a good six feet away, chuckling to himself and just barely becoming tangible.

After recovering from the slight shock, Sam set a mock-glare upon her face and frowned. "You're evil."

"No more laughing...why is there no more laughing?" Danny gave her his best wide-eyed puppy dog face.

Sam bit her lip again. It was tempting to give in and continue playing tonsil hockey, but she was determined to beat this unexpected foe's attempts to play with her emotions. "That won't work," she said, more to herself than to him. "You're not gonna get me to laugh again." Her voice was resolute, but both of them knew it had no backing behind it. She caught rings of light in her peripheral vision, and she glanced at Danny curiously to find that he had transformed into his jump-suited alter-ego.

His toes didn't even graze the floor; instead he hovered a few inches off the ground. "BEWARE!" he yelled, waggling his fingers around in a mockery of the Box Ghost. Sam bit her lip again, but by then she knew it was too late, especially when he flipped around so that he was floating upside-down and making one of the silliest faces she'd ever seen. A smile broke out onto her face. Laughter shook through her and she slid down the wall.

"Got you again!" Danny, pleased with himself, flipped himself right-side-up and dropped down, walking over to her. "You know what's next?" She knew, just by the mischievous grin, and the way his eyes sparkled. She was fully prepared when he braced himself on the wall behind her, one arm on either side of her head, and captured her mouth with his own. Sam's arms found her way around his neck. _Finally,_ she thought, before most coherent thinking left her. Not that she needed to think. Danny was doing oh so wonderful things with his tongue...

She felt herself being pulled flush against him and hands trailing down to rest on her hips. Her own hands ran idly through the hair near his neck, marveling at how soft it was when it was white, in contrast to the coarse feel of his black hair. Danny's ice-cold mouth greedily trailed down to her neck. Sam shuddered, and not just from the chill. In response, he pressed her against the wall with more pressure than before, eliciting a gasp.

With a smile, and a slight pang of disappointment on Sam's part, he pulled away from her neck and gently nuzzled the edge of her ear. "I love you," he said softly, picking her up in his arms. Danny loved holding Sam in his arms. She wasn't too heavy, wasn't too fragile...in his mind she was perfect.

"I love you too," was the soft reply, though she didn't need to say it aloud. He already knew. Her happy sigh as she snuggled into his neck brought a smile to his face. Shifting Sam in his arms, Danny gently placed her on the couch. Eager, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him on top of her, silencing his protest with a chaste kiss.

This was what she lived for. This feeling she got when she was in the arms of this boy, this _man_, that she had known forever and wanted to know forever after. The love that radiated off of him like heat from the sun. The way his hands felt pressed against her back, her stomach, her face. The way his lips and teeth felt on her neck and shoulders and other areas that would make her writhe and moan and beg for more. What she would not give to experience this each day for the rest of her life.

"Someone's in a good mood today," a husky voice was saying above her.

"You don't know the half of it," Sam responded quietly, brushing Danny's hair back, only to have it spring into place at odd angles. She couldn't help but smile. An eyebrow went up on the man's face.

"Do I amuse you?" he asked, a playful tone detracting from the seriousness of the question.

Chuckling, Sam pecked him on the cheek. "Very much."

Somewhere behind them, perhaps from the house next door that housed the rowdy high-schoolers she had become used to, came soft music--and if it was soft to them, it must have been unbearably loud next-door. Or perhaps it was just a radio left on today when they'd left for the movie. But it was still there, and it was just the right kind of music to be heard at a time like this. The two on the couch were locked into the other's eyes, sharing feelings. It had always been rumored that they could share their thoughts--not true, of course. But sometimes...sometimes it felt that way.

Playfully, Sam ruffled his hair again, making the mess even worse.

"Hey," Danny said, pushing her hand away and smiling.

"Sorry," Sam said with a wink.

Ah yes. This was always what got her going.

Their little laugh fights.


	2. Hot Showers

There was nothing he wanted more than to get into bed and fall into lovely unconsiousness.

Well, that wasn't true. He wanted to be out of the rain, after flying and being knocked about in the down pour for--oh, what was it now? Two? Three hours?

His clothes, already soaked through, were covered in mud, and his trademark white shirt probably would be forever brown. Poor thing. It had had a long, crisp, bright, clean life. His jeans were caked in the stuff, too, and his hair was past the point of brown--it had practically been dyed.

"Why is it," Danny muttered to himself on the stoop, "That whenever I fight something in ghost mode, my human self gets the most dirty?" Wringing out his shirt onto the stone in an attempt to get some of the brown guck out wasn't helping his cause. His mother wouldn't let him inside so muddy, and now he was standing outside, in only his boxers, trying to salvage his outfit. The foamy brown slosh dripped out onto the steps far too slowly for his liking, and the spashes were overpowered by the raindrops on the roof.

Fifteen minutes of this passed before Maddie relented, allowing Danny to come inside out of the cold and the wet.

He was shivering now, and dead tired (no pun idended.) The worn-out teenager floated up the steps, too tired to walk. It didn't matter. His mother might wonder why Danny hadn't tracked in any mud, but they weren't paying attention now anyway. Hiding his powers was just too much.

As he opened the door to his room, it was with delight that DAnny saw his nice, comfortable bed. His freshly washed, gleaming clean bed. His white bed.

"God dammit," Danny growled.

His mother would kill him...

But it was so tempting to just fall into it, stain the sheets...

He was too worn out to fight...

He was already in his boxers anyway, and could just close his eyes and...

Get the sheets dirty.

A string of swears echoed in the hallway, followed by a slamming door. Moments later, the showe turned on Maddie could have waitedto do laundry, but NO. She had to keep him from getting the sleep he needed. As the bathroom began to full up with steam, Danny pulled off his wet and cold boxers and stepped into the shower, yelping when the hot water hit his clammy skin. Soon, however, he was adjusted to the spray, sighting as he stretched his arms over his head.

The aches in this muscles were soothed by the pleasant heat, and a painful knot in his shoulder was gradually working its way out. The water trickled over him, making parts of him sting. He would have dark purple spots there in the morning. Although a fresh cut on his leg would leave a rather nasty scar (Sam would have a fit) it was something you just got used to fighting off spectral entities.

Mud and dirt seeping into the wound probably wasn't helping, though. Time to get clean. A washcloth would not be durable enough for this caked on mess. He would get hell for this later, but still Danny picked up Jazz's favorite loofah. He also grabbed a little of her soap--the squeeze kind. Smelling like kumkwats and ginger for a night would be a neccesary sacrifice.

Slowly, gently, the boy scrubbed away the grime that stubbornly stuck to his skin. Oh, it did feel nice to finally wash off! A smile spread across his face unbidden. It stayed with him as he turned the water up a little more, set down the loofah, rinsed. No longer was it dirt, but stress and fatigue making their ways down the drain.

Danny turned off the shower slightly reluctantly. He was euphoric, dizzy with warmth. His heart beat fast and at a reknewed pace. The air outside of the shower was freezing but it didn't matter to him. His very skin was exuding moist heat, and it felt _wonderful_.

Not bothering with the muddy clothes and soggy boxers, Danny wrapped himself in a large, fluffy blue towel (yet another one of Jazz's bathroom posessions) and walked back to his room. What need was there to change into pajamas? The teenager simply rubbed himself down wit the towel, and law atop his soft, nice, clean, freshly washed sheets.

Exhaustion was catching back up to him, penetrating his excsacy, and with a sigh and smile, he was blissfully asleep.


	3. Lying in Bed Listening to the Rain

In the last six hours, all Sam had done was two loads of laundry, a forced cleaning of her suite-like room, four classes worth of homework, and the counting of one thousand, seven hundred and eighty two dots on her ceiling.

Of these events, only the last one was voluntary.

She'd come home too late again--the third time this week, her mother had claimed, though that was likely a vast understatement--and was promptly grounded. The night, which Sam had planned to spend with Danny hunting ghosts, was ruined, and she couldn't even get a message out to tell him. He probably thought she was skimping out on her duties, or just didn't want to be around him. Untrue.

Where was her father? Where was her grandmother? They were usually on her side in all of this, backing her up when her mother tore into her like a piece of meat. The comparison made Sam shudder slightly. Were they not worried about her this time? Did they want her to endure such harsh treatment? Did they secretly agree?

Either way, Sam was trapped inside the house for the remainder of the night. What was worse, after the last episode of grounding, her parents had been smart enough to put bars on her windows, and then lock them. From the outside. There was no way she could bust out of here if Danny was in trouble. She might be able to force the windows open, at least, but the bars...

Lying back on her purple bedspread, she was finally reaching the last reserves of her patience, and boredom was settling in. One thousand, nine hundred and seventy dots was more than enough, thanks, for one night, and she'd lost count anyway too many times around five hundred to really know how many of the annoying bumps were on her ceiling.

With a sigh, Sam closed her eyes for the first time in twenty minutes, grimacing when they stuck painfully. Tears streamed down her cheeks in a desperate attempt to find relief from the dry, itching feeling. She rubbed at them absently. Behind the lids, the darkness was almost comforting. She could retreat into her daydreams and watch the colors float by in unique patterns. She could feel precious moisture returning, and the throbbing was beginning to subside.

Another sigh. Sam rolled around, now lying on her stomach. All was quiet for a bit. Then, there was a sound--rattles like beads slowly hitting a tiled floor.

Small, wet beads that couldn't have much substance to them.

Lavender eyes blinked open, pain forgotten, and looked out at the window. The night was dark, but she could still make out the miniscule drops of moisture clinging to the screen. The beady sound got louder and faster, and with a jolt of recognition Sam realized it was rain.

It was fitting, she thought, to have it rain on a night like this. Now she could have an excuse, though a weak one, for not going out. Her incarceration could be more justified. How could she do anything in the rain, grounded or no?

A smile.

Rain on spring nights always meant the morning would smell fresh and clean, as if for just a moment everything bad in the world was washed away by silence. The sound of drops hitting the roof was a very distinct sound; a toneless "plink" repeated a million times over. In all her years living in the mansion, she'd never found anything that sounded, or felt, quite like it. There was a calming sensation that came along with rain, that at the same time was refreshing and rejuvenating--it made some part of you want to run our into it and be soaked.

Sam hopped off her bed, giddy, and ran to the window. Surely if she pulled hard enough she could get the window open. A tug. A yank. Alas, nothing she tried would work. There would be no fresh rain scent tonight for Sam Manson, but did it matter? Just the sound made her feel better.

Why be out with friends, fighting all sorts of creeps and creatures, when you can stay home and listen to the rain?


	4. Hot Towels Fresh Out of the Dryer

It was the first month of semester one, Grade 13--what normal people call freshman year of college. Exactly 28 days in, Daniel James Fenton found himself staring at his toughest, most challenging opponent in all of his four years of being a hero. It was menacingly looking back at him (although, admittedly, it didn't have eyes.) He had to gulp. It wasn't the first time Danny had seen one of these things, but it was certainly the first time he had encountered one on his own.

The culprit was a washing machine.

He'd been focused on the contraption for an hour now, and still couldn't figure out how to turn the damned thing on the right way. The concept of turning a knob and pushing it in to start it was silly to him--why not just have a simple "Start" button? The evil thing had already belched soapy water on him twice, and it seemed that he'd added too much detergent--the suds sloshing out the top and onto the floor was proof enough of _that_.

Then, when it started shaking and rattling everywhere, he panicked and flung the latch open, desperate to save his clothes from whatever fate the evil washing machine would chuck at them--but was flung back by a sock going 120 miles an hour, and would surely have a bruise in one of the places he really shouldn't. How would he explain THAT? "Well, you see, Tucker, I wasn't in a fight, per say--an appliance knocked me on my ass."

Manly.

His pajamas soaked--for of course, at this point, he had no clean clothes--Danny scowled at his first load as it spinned. He just wouldn't touch it, that was the key. Leave it alone and it will leave you alone. And so he sat back and waited until the old machine creaked to a stop.

The wad of socks and boxers came out of the washer dripping and heavy--a slight indicator that he'd broken the spin cycle, but of course Danny didn't know this. He chucked the ball in the dryer without even disentangling the clothes.

Jeans and shorts were next. Having one semi-successful run under his belt, he was more confident as he put in significantly less soap and kept the top firmly shut for the duration. Twenty minutes later, that sopping wad went in the dryer on top of his other clothes. Finally, the towels--Tucker had forced him to wash the ones in their bathroom after an incident involving peanut butter and caramel. They spun around and around as Danny sat, bored out of his mind.

With the last dregs of laundry in the dryer, he had to push down quite hard to get them all to fit. In fact, he was debating jumping up and down on them when he finally slid the last t-shirt in place. Feeling satisfied with himself, Danny hit the small switch, and the dryer rattled to life, then sat back in one of the nearby chairs.

Only the towels survived.

Yes, the foolish boy lamented the loss of his stained and burned clothing as the fire department extinguished the resulting fire. The explanation was that the heavy load caused the dryer to stop rotating, which lit one of his boxers. Sadly, it was his favorite pair. The damage just to his wardrobe would be at least 1000, not to mention what he'd have to pay in damages.

Perhaps he could salvage some pieces, but for sure he had no underwear for the next two weeks.

Strangely, the towels seemed to have only been saved by the immense amount of water Danny neglected to wring from them before putting them in the dryer. As the crowd evacuated the smoky Laundromat, someone handed him his five large, fluffy, perfectly dry bath towels. He stared at these like they were survivors of a tragic accident--which, he supposed, they were.

The heat radiating from them calmed him significantly, although he was still quite depressed about his clothing. It had always been a favorite pastime of Danny to walk into the laundry room and hold the towels just as they came out of the dryer. The top towel--blue, with a little DF stitched into it (a graduation present from is mother) was carefully lifted up and around the young adult's shoulders. Gentle heat, nothing like the previous inferno, washed over him. It was soothing, pulling the stress out of him just enough to allow a smile and a clear thought.

He'd have to ask his folks for help, no doubt about it. The salvageable clothes should be able to get him through another week--two, maybe, if he wore his jeans more than nonce. He could work overtime at the Nasty Burger if he had too--ask for spare clothes from Tucker.

Or he could just wear the towels.

Danny had to laugh at the thought. His own little toga party, and he wasn't even that popular yet at Amity University. Someone had handed him a trash bag full of clothes, and one full of the corpses of clothes. He'd have to ask Sam how to do laundry properly, later, but for now, he'd have to hang up his nice towels. He turned tail, set off by foot for his dorm.

Laundry day would come again soon enough.


	5. Laughing at Yourself

It was time again. The movie was ending--a science fiction one this week, thanks to Mr. Foley--and the traditional popcorn battle had begun.

Sam was never really sure when these things happened. Only once had she noticed the look that Danny and Tucker exchanged before they snuck off. The girl was usually engrossed in the movie to the point that she forgot that every Friday night, about an hour and a half in, the boys would sneak up behind her and dump a bucket of popcorn on her head.

Suddenly there were all generals in a great war--hiding behind their battlements and fighting each other off with deadly (and salty) ammunition. The three-sided skirmish was fast and tactical. Danny always made the excuse that it would help them in real battles--but, then again, in real battles the ghost wouldn't feign death after a popcorn kernel hit them in the chest.

Sam's dutiful popcorn machine kept cranking out the pieces of buttery goodness, and they were immediately wasted as each teenager hid behind their own piece of furniture. It was almost like a juvenile snowball fight, only warm, and at the end Tucker would eat all of the salvageable ammunition.

The basement of Sam's house was always perfect for such fun, what with her 80-inch television and 12 remotes scattered about. But they never seemed able to finish a movie.

It was curious.

Eventually, the war of popcorn came to an end when Danny and Tucker slammed into the machine, sloshing butter and salt all over themselves and the carpet. Rather than worry about the damage done to the floor (hey, that was what they had maids for anyway, and it wasn't like they couldn't replace it) Sam fell backwards onto the couch she had just been hiding behind, clutching her sides and laughing like a maniac.

The boys glanced at each other, perplexed, until they saw the other's body covered in yellow oil and red fuzzles, and they too hit the floor in stitches, pointing wavering fingers at the other, shouting out things like "You look like Elmo!" and "Who set the Muppet on the loose?!"

Sam was the first to become sober, standing and indicating the bathroom, a smile etched into her face nonetheless. Danny and Tucker obediently stood, disappearing into the hallway.

All was quiet, except for the dramatic robot-human battle at the climax of the movie. Oh yes, the movie. She'd forgotten about that.

Not really interested, Sam settled on the couch anyway. Staring absently at the screen, her thoughts began to wander to random topics. The upcoming finals. Impending graduation. Life in the real world. Tofu. It was in this brain haze that Sam heard the clunk.

Then another, deeper clunk.

Finally, the maniacal laughter from the hallway. On instinct alone Sam raced for the door, flung it open--to be met with another clunk, an "OW!" and a sudden loss of balance. The world was a blur. Then there was more laughter.

"What the hell happened?!" Sam said to Danny, who was holding his nose, and Tucker, laughing his ass off on the ground between gasps, eventually explaining,

"Danny ran into the door--twice--and then, then you beaned him in the nose, and--" But he collapsed into laughter again, not able to point out the fact that their position was a wee bit more embarrassing than most.

The two teens glared at their beret-sporting friend, at his face contorted with mirth, and then at each other, blushing, red, and Danny with a giant, red nose, and their faces softened, and smiled. Still on the floor, they too had to giggle at the hilarity of the situation.

Running into a door--it was ridiculous.


	6. No Lines

You couldn't hear anything over the rattle of the cart's tires on the tile, not even the frantic footsteps and pounding hearts of the two teenages as they sped through Shaws. It was a wonder they hadn't gotten kicked out already.

The bakery was their first stop. The cake had been pre-ordered a week in advance--it was a simple chocolate, two-layered item with chocolate frosting on it. It had a little PDA on top in white and grey frosting, and on the screen of this PDA was the number 18. Decorating the cake were more gadgets and the words, "Happy Bithday Tucker!"

Yes, the oldest of the three, Tucker was turning 18. Legally, he would be an adult. Technically he was already one--his birthday had been on Thursday, and it was Saturday night. They'd had a small bash that night with the family, but it wasn't much. Tucker claimed that it was fine, he'd asked too late to have a real party anyway. But everyone could see he was dissappointed.

He wouldn't be for long! Supposing that the surprise party tonight worked out. Danny and Sam were racing for supplies, after all, with only an hour to go!

Who needed streamers anyway?! Well, Jazz and Maddie both thought they were absolutely neccesary. As if streamers made a party. There were already enough decorations in the house as it was.

Speeding around the corner, the two harried teens sped into the snack food isle to grab some last-minute provisions. Salsa, Cheetoes, some tortilla chips, cheez whiz, and the like were all pushed into the cart willy-nilly.

Last was the soda aisle. And this was the most important to a party--caffeine.

Three 2 liters of Dr. Pepper. A six-pack of Mountain Dew. Four six-packs of Sprite and a twelve-pack of Diet Pepsi. And for good measure, a box of Nesteas.

Sadly, they could not find any Orange Soda. Mourning this loss, Danny nearly crashed the cart into a big, pyramid-shaped pile of canned prunes.

And then, it was time to go. A sharp turn around the baked goods and the coast was clear--just the check out to go.

Both Danny and Sam were prepared to hit the brakes on their little wobbly cart fast, which they did as soon as they saw the large sign with a big 14 emblazoned on the top, causing the top set of streamers to come falling off and bounce under a magazine rack (Sam dived for it and, of course, the latest Playboy fell right on her head, which she removed with a shudder. But, the streamers were saved.)

But wait...

There was no one in line.

"Dude," Danny said, looking at his watch, "What time is it?"

The bubblegum-popping, acne-ridden redhead behind the counter said, "Fifteen to closing," from behind her magazine.

"Well," Sam said, "It did seem kind of empty in here."

Both of them smiled for a moment--placing their stack of things on the conveyer belt maybe a bit more leisurely than they would under normal circumstances. In fact, it wasn't until they were walking back to Sam's little black Honda, talking casually and laughing, that they both stopped dead. Eyes widened. Danny checked his watch again.

"Oh, shit!" he yelled, racing for the car. "We've only got ten minutes to get home!"


End file.
